Yellow Swing
by Geu23
Summary: It was a strange dream; one where he was in a park on a swing with a small yellow swing beside him. It puzzled him & then the small boy came & asked if he could swing with him. Just who was the small boy & why did they look so alike? Ghostly oneshot


**Something short and inspiration came from a friend of mine. She had a dream similar to this and I thought about Ed and Al... I hope to hear your reviews and yes this is a one-shot! Well, I don't own FMA or the dream but I wrote this!**

Have fun! Enjoy and see ya next time,  
~!WainGuy?~ 

_**Yellow Swing**_

He was in the park, on the little swing, and it was dark. The sky was a deep blue with small crystals of white which were stars and small dark clouds scattered about. Alphonse looked around, no one was there.

Why was he here all alone?

Why was he in the park?

He didn't know.

His small hands gripped the rusted chains of the swing he sat on. He looked to his right and saw a small yellow swing, its chains rusted copper and it was so lonely looking.

He pulled the chains back and started to swing, slowly in the night.

His thoughts drifted; he thought about his best friend Winry and her pet dog, he thought of his chalk-throwing teacher, he thought about his mother and father and he even thought about how he was going to convince them to let him keep a cat.

Wind blew against his face, it tugged at his clothes and it sang in the rustling leaves. He stopped and watched the leaves as they swayed and floated down.

He looked in front of him and he saw a small boy. The boy looked quite young age – nine years old (five years younger than him) – and he had bright yellow hair and eyes, he wore a simple mustard yellow short sleeved shirt and short brown pants. The boy was looking at him.

"Can I swing with you?" the boy asked, softly, quietly.

Alphonse just looked at the yellow swing beside him then at the boy with the yellow shirt. He gave a small nod and the boy walked forward, turned around and sat on the swing.

He stared at the boy as he rocked back and forth on the swing and wondered why he looked so familiar. Alphonse blinked. _He looks kindda like…_

"Can you push me?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the short request. The boy was looking at him with wide yellow eyes, his small slightly chubby hands gripping the rusted chains tightly until they were white.

He gave a smile and stood up and said, "Sure."

He walked behind the swing and gave him a small push and he swung forward. The boy gave a small laugh and cried out, "higher!"

He complied and pushed the boy higher and higher, the boy swung closer and closer to the top of the swing. All the way the small boy laughed and giggle with the occasional "higher!" as he enjoyed himself.

Then when the swing went over the top and came back down the yellow haired boy was gone and only a small yellow swing rocked back and forth.

The wind blew through the park with a very sad and lonely sigh.

Alphonse stared at the ceiling, his thoughts all muddled and confused. What kind of dream was that? Where had that small boy gone?

He pushed himself off the bed and ruffled his hair as he walked out of his room. His mother would most likely be in the kitchen while his father was already at work.

He reached the kitchen and, as predicted, his mother was in the kitchen and no father in sight. His mother was facing away from him, her skilled hands busy with the dishes.

"Good morning mum," he said sleepily, a smile on his face.

She turned around, a happy smile on her face. "Good morning sleepy head. How was your night?"

He sat at the table and grabbed an apple before he turned his grey eyes towards her. "It was weird."

"Oh?" she inquired as she placed a glass of milk in front of him, "weird how?"

He took a bite out of the apple and said, "I was at the park and it was dark. I was on the swing then this little boy comes along and asks if he could swing. I told him it was okay then he asked if I could push him."

He gave a puzzled frown as he studied the green apple. "He kept going higher and higher until he went over the pole but… when the swing came back down he wasn't there. He was just gone."

He gave a snort and said, "Well, isn't that weird?"

His mother didn't reply and he paused in his examination of the bitten out apple and turned his gaze towards her. She looked stunned, her green eyes were wide and her jaw was slack.

"Mum?"

His mother blinked and asked quickly, almost urgently, "What did the boy look like?"

Al frowned. _Now that she mentioned it…_

"He looked a bit like you and he looked a lot like dad..."

His mother turned pale and her usually happy face fell. What was wrong?

"Is something wrong mum?"

Her eyes were bright and she said, "He was supposed to be your older brother… I had a miscarriage with our first child… It could have been him…"

Alphonse was stunned. He was supposed to have an elder brother?

He swallowed and asked, "What was his name supposed to be?"

She gave a sad – a very, very sad – smile and ran a trembling hand through his hair, "his name was Edward.

"And we had to bury him."

Alphonse looked at his mother and saw how sad she looked. But then a thought came to him. "Can we visit him?"

She looked shocked before she turned her watery gaze towards him and gave a very tiny smile.

"Of course. Or course we can."

A few hours later they found themselves at the cemetery, at a small section that held the small bodies of children underneath the marked headstones. Alphonse walked after his mother, looking from headstone to headstone and he took note of the small toys (teddy bears, little dolls, a small rabbit and a stuffed cat) and the wilting flowers.

Then they came to a stop in front of a small headstone marked 'Edward Elric'. He chanced a glance at his mother and saw tears streak down her face as she stared at the small grey stone.

This was his brother who had not been born to breathe the Earth's air or feel the touch of his mother's warmth or to see the bright sun or to feel the shielding embrace of a father.

He was born cold and dead, without a heartbeat, without a breath.

The wind blew through the graveyard and it whispered in his ear.

_Thank you for visiting…_

_Thank you for pushing me on the yellow swing._


End file.
